


Hopeless Wanderer

by zoldyckstripshow



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Fluff, M/M, i just want kite to be happy okay is that so wrong, there's like one swear word in here this is pretty Pure and Innocent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-23 01:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6101048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoldyckstripshow/pseuds/zoldyckstripshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kite prepares for a goodbye, and Ging is heavy with... <i>something</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hopeless Wanderer

**Author's Note:**

> So originally this was a drabble on tumblr, but I edited it and beefed up the word count, and now we're here. 
> 
> Based on a Mumford and Sons song of the same title. Kitedogs (from tumblr) drew fanart of Kite listening to that song, and after listening it to it for upwards of 4 hours straight, I just - caught the feels. I'm so ashamed.
> 
> #Kitedoesn'tlistentocountryclub2k16
> 
> Enjoy!

The soft bay of a lone coyote echoed over the hills. Gently, the breeze swept through their grassy bed, grazing Kite’s skin with all the tenderness expected from a relaxing night in the woods. The sky was completely clear, without a cloud in sight, and the wind whispered ripples in the lake, tiny stars dancing across the surface. An owl hooted in the distance. Half-asleep, they lay in a lazy puddle, muscles melted after a long day of hiking and hunting.

Kite chewed the inside of his cheek. It was, perhaps, an inappropriate time for words, but then, their time was limited, and Ging never cared much for tact.

Some crickets took a break from their symphonic compositions and he was afforded a few seconds of complete silence. Ging’s breath was hot on his skin and the warmth of his arm was heavy, like a log placed across Kite’s ribcage, slowly suffocating him with weighted affection. He knew in the morning, he would be covered with treebark love bites and small bruises, after Ging decided they had been romantic enough for one lifetime.

 “What do you think I would have done without you?” Kite finally asked. It was startlingly loud in the peaceful quiet of nature. He felt Ging shift next to him, turning to press his forehead into Kite’s side and wrapping one of his strong arms around Kite’s chest protectively.

“…lived in the sewers and died a nameless criminal,” Ging mumbled. His voice was muffled against the nest of Kite’s hair that he had painstakingly sculpted into a pillow.

Kite smiled up at the stars. He liked to think that they smiled back, sometimes. “Probably.”

The constellations were bright, tonight. Years of sleeping outside had given him the opportunity to memorize most of the ones in the northern hemisphere. Ging was particularly fond of the Zodiacs, but he preferred the smaller clusters, like Pleiades. They reminded him of cities. Growing up, the nights were dark, damp, and smelled of sewer; he only had light if he managed to steal a matchbox and enough wood for a fire. When Ging had introduced him to hotel rooms and fine dining and penthouses and views of cities that actually lit up at night, it had changed his whole perspective on what was beautiful.

Ging’s fingers caught in Kite’s shirt. He held on tightly, and Kite waited for his inevitable contribution.

“What about me? What if I’d never met you?”

“You’d be the same. A hopeless wanderer, running away from responsibilities.” Kite’s answer was blunt. 

They never sugarcoated anything with each other. No, they were always bitter with honesty, like the lemonade Gon had once tried making using Killua’s aura as sweetener. Killua had been in a bad mood that day. It was translated into some of the sourest fruit juice Kite had ever had the displeasure of tasting, but if there was one thing he was willing to do, it was paint a Mona Lisa smile on his face and offer gushing compliments for them.

Ging was not quite as artistic.

That was an argument Kite wanted to forget.

“You think so?” Ging finally sat up, and Kite took a deep breath of the sparkling summer air, his lungs no longer crushed under Ging’s imposing existence.

“I don’t think you could stay in one place if your life depended on it,” Kite said wryly, brushing some leaves off his jeans as he sat up to join Ging.

This indisputable knowledge didn’t bother Kite much anymore. Ging would leave, on some other adventure, and Kite would be alone again. There was simply no question about it. Of course, Kite was always welcome to follow – Ging had once said it was okay for Kite to chase him down, if he felt so inclined, but Kite was starting to find an indignant aversion to the idea. Why should he chase someone across continents and dangerous trials to spend time with them? If they worked so well together, if Ging actually _wanted_ him there, then he would stay.

But he would never stay. He  _could_  never stay.

Gon dealt with it in his own way, and he had Killua as a comfort. Kite… well, he had his expedition team. It wasn’t a match made in heaven, like Gon and Killua’s friendship, but it was a sturdy support system, and he was grateful.

He would get through it. Somehow.

Ging was staring at the moon. Its light reflected against the tiny goldmines in his eyes, and Kite was mesmerized. He couldn’t look away, though he could feel his cheeks heating up with embarrassment. For what might’ve been the first time in his living memory, Ging didn’t tease him about it. Instead, he turned to face Kite, face uncharacteristically serious.

“It would’ve been better for us both if we had met later.”

Kite looked at him, completely lost. Ging almost _never_ dealt in past hypotheticals. He would do something risky, fuck it up, and then move on. He had eyes only for the future and the possible courses his life could take. He didn’t pay any attention to what his life had been, or currently _was_.

Ging must’ve noticed his confusion, because he continued. “I can’t say what would’ve happened to you, but maybe I would be different. Better, perhaps. More grounded.”

Thinking back to his time as a homeless renegade, Kite shook his head. “I disagree. One more year in the sewers, and I probably would’ve died.”  

“You’re intelligent. Resourceful. Strong. You would’ve found a way.”

There he went again, telling Kite about himself, as if Kite wouldn’t know his situation better and have a better grasp on what he could and could not have handled. It was one of his pet peeves about Ging’s arrogant attitude: he always thought he knew best.

Kite was firm in his rebuttal. “Local shopkeepers and neighbors all knew who I was, and they all wanted me gone. I don’t know if any of them were capable of murder, but they would’ve made sure I didn’t have a home to go to, if I’d stayed there.”

Ging plucked a blade of grass and rolled it between his fingertips. He said nothing, for a few minutes, just watching the grass closely, as if it were offering some sort of counsel. For all his strange skills and Nen-related talents, it very well might have been. Maybe he’d picked up plant communication on his travels. Kite wouldn’t put it past him. When he seemed satisfied with his new collection of plant-based knowledge, Ging blew the blade of grass off his hand, turning to Kite once more.

“You’re wrong.”

“About what?”

“When you said I couldn’t stay in one place, not even if my life depended on it.”

“You’re right, you care too much about yourself to risk death for something so simple.” The sarcasm in Kite’s voice was palpable and viscous.

Ging grinned, splaying his palms upward in a gesture of defeat. “True, but that’s not what I meant. I meant, maybe this time I’ll stick around.”

Kite scowled. He didn’t mind practical jokes, but this one was a step too far. “ _Right_. And I’ll stop wearing my hat and do that stupid ponytail thing you’re always asking me to try.”

Ging didn’t move for a while. He searched Kite’s face intently, looking for some mysterious ingredient for his concoction of bad decisions. Finally, with an aching slowness that Kite never would’ve guessed him capable of, he reached into his pocket. In the darkness of the night, Kite thought it was a condom, and he gave a sigh of resignation, about to lie back down, but when it didn’t crinkle and Ging didn’t make any further movements, Kite took a closer look.

It was a hair band.

He looked from the hair band to Ging’s face, completely nonplussed. But as the seconds ticked by, Kite saw the determination in his eyes, and the certainty with which he held the hair band in his weathered fingers.

Kite didn’t dare speak. Any noise might break the delicate bubble of hope swelling in his chest. He reached out, tentative and almost afraid of what he might find if he actually touched the elastic band – would it be smoke and mirrors? Would it be a snake? Would it be Ging’s aura, transmuted into some kind of ownership metaphor?

Ging placed the band in his hand, and with that same cautious slowness, reached up to grasp Kite’s newsboy cap, pulling it off his head. The familiar hood of blue disappeared from his vision, and the glittering galaxies above him were that much brighter. Ging carefully brushed his unruly bangs out of his face and he leaned in closer, to look Kite in the eye.

“You heard me. I came here by choice, and I’m staying by choice. I’ll learn to love the skies I’m under instead of seeking out new ones.”

Everything was still. He could count his own heartbeats, and Kite was certain that the earth had stopped spinning. A few fireflies danced around them, pulling the sparkling light of the stars down from the constellations and into their humid space, casting gentle shadows across the grass.  

The intermission ended and the crickets started to play their song again. That same coyote howled in the distance, but this time, it was answered by more of its kind, and their unified cries cascaded over the mountains. The fireflies departed across the lake, and Kite could’ve sworn he saw Pleiades in their flight pattern, but it was probably just a trick of the moonlight.

Kite reached up, gathering his hair into a bundle and snapping the hair band into place. It felt weighted; weighted like Ging’s arm, like logs on his chest, like walking away from his adopted pets and makeshift family in the sewers of a shantytown.

When Ging kissed his neck and left the first bruise of many, Kite decided he liked that weight.


End file.
